


Puppy Love

by tempestbreak



Category: SK8 the Infinity (Anime)
Genre: Blow Jobs, But it's a joke, Come Eating, Coming In Pants, Dom/sub Undertones, Friends to Lovers, Getting Together, Leg Humping, M/M, Master/Pet, Nipple Play, Post-Episode 3, light petplay, until it's not
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-03
Updated: 2021-03-03
Packaged: 2021-03-16 09:03:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,021
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29822568
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tempestbreak/pseuds/tempestbreak
Summary: “What did he mean, that you’d have to be his dog?”Reki bursts out laughing. “Oh, Miya? He was just being a brat, joking around… I think,” he adds, unsure.“Oh. I thought it might mean something specific in Japanese.”Reki purses his lips, humming. “Hmm… I guess I don’t really know what he meant.” He drums his fingers on the handlebars and then snickers. “Though he did say he’d be your cat or dog if he lost, so maybe you could ask him!”“I don’t want him to be my dog, he’s a child.”Langa sounds deadpan as always, yet his tone curls in Reki’s gut. Maybe it’s how close he is to his ear. Maybe it’s how he put just the slightest emphasis on the wordhim.--Or: Langa wins against Miya, but Reki still ends up someone's dog, as a joke. Right?
Relationships: Hasegawa Langa/Kyan Reki
Comments: 11
Kudos: 385





	Puppy Love

The craziest part of it all is that Langa wins.

Reki can barely believe it. His feet are moving before he clocks it, his arms throwing themselves around Langa’s sweaty shoulders almost without his permission. Because… he won! Against a Japanese national team hopeful! This guy keeps getting better and better. He’s taking off like a rocket.

Against him, Langa’s body is warm and damp with sweat. Reki has to pull away slightly to look him in the eye, their faces mere inches away. “You were amazing!” he gushes. “That was _the best_!”

Langa’s still breathing hard, looking both blasé and a little shell-shocked, the way he always does when he’s just accomplished something incredible. He stares at Reki for a long, quiet moment, and Reki realizes with a hot, itchy feeling that they really are super close, holy crap, why’d he suddenly wanna get so close to Langa, anyway!? It’s just that he looked so amazing up there, and that spin he pulled off on the broken railing—

“My Reki-L2S!” he bursts out, falling to the ground by the board. Yes, yes, that’s it, that’s the reason he felt like he could fly when he saw Langa pull off that stunt. It was because he made the board.

“ _I_ was the one skating,” Langa mutters, surprisingly annoyed for a person who just beat Chinen Miya.

“Right!” Reki agrees readily. “And your skating was even more amazing!”

Things get louder after that, and way more confusing. Reki realizes this Miya kid is far too hard on himself, and then some jerk in a mask shows up and makes him feel even worse, _plus_ he’s all over Langa for some reason, and that’s just— _no_ —so how can Reki _not_ challenge him to a beef? Reki and Langa don’t get time just the two of them until they’re heading home after the night’s over, Langa perched on the back of the scooter.

“Hey…”

His voice is low and quiet in Reki’s ear. Goosebumps prickle at his skin, even in the warm night air.

“Y-yeah?”

“What did he mean, that you’d have to be his dog?”

Reki bursts out laughing. “Oh, Miya? He was just being a brat, joking around… I think,” he adds, unsure.

“Oh. I thought it might mean something specific in Japanese.”

Reki purses his lips, humming. “Hmm… I guess I don’t really know what he meant.” He drums his fingers on the handlebars and then snickers. “Though he did say he’d be your cat or dog if he lost, so maybe you could ask him!”

“I don’t want him to be my dog, he’s a child.”

Langa sounds deadpan as always, yet his tone curls in Reki’s gut. Maybe it’s how close he is to his ear. Maybe it’s how he put just the slightest emphasis on the word _him_.

“You’re really giving this a lot of thought, huh?” Reki chuckles.

“Well, it means I didn’t really win anything.”

“That’s true! And so unfair. You just know if you’d lost, he would’ve made me walk around with dog ears and a tail or something, live at his beck and call,” he grumbles. “Probably run behind him on his board barking.”

Langa huffs a laugh, and his breath is hot against the back of Reki’s neck. “That… would be something.”

“Yeah. Good thing you won instead! You might not want a kid to be your dog, but I wanna be some kid’s dog even less!”

“Mm.”

The conversation dies down. The warm wind whips around them, the smell of the salt air starker and more striking to Reki’s nose than it’s ever been. He never noticed it until he started to wonder how it smelled to Langa, how it must be different from the sharp, clear air of snowy mountains. He wonders if he misses it.

They pull up outside Langa’s house, and Reki sets his foot down on the asphalt while Langa unbuckles his helmet. He has a thoughtful look on his face, as though he’s deep in his own head.

“Great job, again, tonight,” Reki says encouragingly. “You really blew everyone away.”

“Well, I guess I had to win,” Langa replies slowly. “Couldn’t let you become someone else’s pet.”

The laugh that bursts from Reki’s chest is pitchy, almost nervous. He rubs the back of his neck, that strange feeling twisting yet again. Because the way Langa said it… did he put that ever-so-slight emphasis on _someone else’s_?

“Y-yeah,” Reki chuckles. “Right. Well—”

“It’s not really fair, though, is it.”

Reki shuts up. Langa is frowning down at his helmet, spinning it in his hands. “Huh?”

“There was a bet,” Langa goes on, his brows pinched soberly. “And I won. But there was nothing for me to win.”

“You’re taking this really seriously…” 

“Miya probably would have taken it just as seriously. He probably would have made you do all that stuff you said.”

“True. So, what…” Reki chuckles. “You’re saying you do want a prize? You—you _do_ want someone to be your dog after all?”

To his surprise, Langa doesn’t laugh. He just tilts his head, as though he doesn’t know the answer himself. “Do I…” he murmurs.

Reki freezes, a strange jolt running through him. “ _Do_ you!?”

“I don’t even know what it means, though,” Langa says, bringing a knuckle to his chin. “Would you really run behind my board barking?”

“Why is it me all of a sudden!?”

“I don’t know. You were the one Miya wanted, you must exhibit some ideal dog-like qualities.”

Reki sighs, his shoulders slumping. “That’s not exactly something I wanna hear…”

“Maybe it just means you would be my servant,” Langa suggests, as though this is a negotiation. “A more colorful way of saying that.”

“I don’t know, Miya does wear a cat tail… And hey!” He shoves a finger in Langa’s chest; aquamarine eyes blink back at him. “Since when did we decide I was doing this, huh?”

“Well, you agreed it was unfair that I didn’t get to win anything.”

Reki purses his lips. “That’s true…”

“And if Miya had won, you probably would’ve had to do it anyway…”

“Yeah…”

“Plus, you said you’d rather not be a dog for a kid, so…” And Langa shrugs and gives Reki a steady look and says simply, “So naturally it follows that you should be mine.”

And Reki’s not so sure it naturally follows, or that anything about this is as simple as Langa makes it sound. But he _is_ sure of the way his blood thrums, the way his gut clenches, the way his heart thuds like a bass drum in his ribcage at the subtle emphasis—not so subtle to his burning ears—in how Langa says the word _mine_.

“I-I mean,” Reki stammers, trying to ignore the heat flooding his face, “you did win. And it’s true, it’s not super fair for you not to get anything… And I guess it could be… kinda fun. Kinda funny, I mean,” he says quickly. Langa doesn’t need to know how Reki’s body is reacting to the idea of being _his_. Not when Reki barely understands it himself. “So… if you really wanna figure it out, I guess I could… be your dog.”

Reki lifts his head just in time to catch a flash of _something_ cross Langa’s expression. He can read surprise, amusement, and something else, something that makes electricity spike through him, makes his own lips part in confusion, in—in _recognition_ …? 

Then Langa snorts and smiles, and the something is gone. He tilts his head and chuckles, “All right, then. Guess I’ll see you tomorrow. Pet.”

“Ha, yeah,” Reki laughs back, his heart pounding. He makes to start up the scooter again. “Well, I should get—”

Langa’s hand drops on top of Reki’s helmeted head, patting it lightly. Reki freezes as Langa smiles sweetly into his burning face. “Be a good boy while your master’s away,” he coos, his eyes dancing with mirth. “Right, Reki?” And laughing, he pulls away and turns toward his front door.

Belatedly, Reki forces a laugh from his clenched-up chest. “Ha! Haha… Right!” he answers breathlessly. He watches until Langa disappears inside his house and then slaps his own cheeks a few times for good measure. “Down, boy,” he mutters to himself as he starts up the scooter and speeds off into the night.

***

The next morning, Reki is almost out the door before he remembers the agreement. He grabs his bento from the kitchen table, his eyes landing on one item in particular, and he gets an idea.

“This’ll make Langa bust a gut,” he snickers to himself, tucking the item under his arm as he runs out the door.

Langa is waiting for him at their normal spot when he rolls up. He must hear the wheels of Reki’s board on the asphalt because he steps out from behind the brush, his hand already raised in a wave.

He freezes when he sees Reki skating towards him, a rolled-up newspaper held in his mouth.

“R-Reki, what are you—?”

Reki grinds to a halt and spits the newspaper at Langa’s feet. He gives a few pants and lets his tongue loll out of his mouth for good measure. “Your morning paper, master,” he pants, grinning with self-satisfaction.

Langa stares at him in shock. Slowly, he bends down to pick up the paper and then just holds it in his hand, staring at it.

“Get it?” Reki says eagerly. “Because I’m your dog!”

“Oh,” Langa says dumbly. He blinks, his silky hair cascading over his face. “I… I didn’t realize you would actually…”

“Hey, I’m a man of my word!” Reki says, planting a hand on his hip. “If I say I’ll be a dog, I’m gonna be the best damn dog I can be! Short of, you know, running around the neighborhood naked on all fours.”

Langa coughs, thumping a fist into his chest. “R-right…” he says hoarsely.

Reki watches as Langa turns the newspaper over and over in his hands, forehead pinched like he wants to say something. Finally, he meets Reki’s gaze, lifting an eyebrow as he waves the paper and tells him flatly, “This is _covered_ in spit.”

***

“Ah, shit,” Reki curses.

“What?” Langa asks, walking beside him. 

“Nothing, it’s nothing.” But he still huffs, frustrated.

They’re putting away the sports equipment after their gym class, walking side by side back to the storage room. Reki’s arms are nearly overflowing, as he insisted on carrying as much as possible for some reason he’s not exactly sure of. Maybe he thought someone would be impressed by it. But now his ear is itching like crazy, and he can’t reach, and it’s driving him insane. He tries tilting his head and lifting his shoulder, but he nearly overbalances all of the shit in his arms and almost eats it going down the stairs.

“Okay, _what_ are you doing?” Langa demands with a sigh.

“My ear,” Reki moans. “It itches so bad but I can’t reach with all this stuff in my—”

He freezes as Langa’s fingers gently brush aside his hair, sending tingles down his spine. Fingernails rake lightly over the shell of it.

“This ear?” Langa asks, his voice soft as usual.

“Y-yeah,” Reki stammers. Langa’s fingertips are cool against his ear, which feels like it’s burning up. Shivers rack his body, every hair follicle tingling, and, oh god, is that his _dick_ responding!? Holy shit, it is. He—he has to put a stop to this, he can’t get aroused just from his best friend touching his ear!

Then Langa hits the spot, and it’s such relief that Reki nearly melts.

“Ooh, yeah,” he breathes, his shoulders slumping.

His eyes are closed, but he hears something that sounds like Langa swallowing. “R-right there?”

“Mm,” Reki hums, nodding. He leans harder into Langa’s hand, rotating his head until Langa’s scratching lightly at the tender skin behind the shell of his ear. He’s no longer concerned about the awkwardness of the halfie in his shorts, not when Langa’s fingernails rake over him just right—and, mercifully, the bag of gym equipment in his hands blocks his crotch from view, anyhow.

Then an idea comes to him. He leans all his weight into one leg and starts kicking out the other into the air, his tongue lolling out while he pants heavily.

Langa pauses. “What are you—?” 

“A- _wooo_!” Reki howls, grinning around his dangling tongue.

“Oh.” Langa blinks, and then withdraws his hand to cover his mouth as he starts laughing. “You are ridiculous, you know that?”

“Now I know why dogs like having their ears scratched!” Reki hoots back, and gives a happy yip, for good measure.

***

To Reki’s great delight, Langa seems happy to let the scratching-behind-his-ear thing be an ongoing inside joke. At lunch, while they’re watching skating videos on YouTube in silence, Langa reaches over and rests his hand on the crown of Reki’s head, his fingers burrowing through his hair. Reki dutifully kicks out his leg a few times to get Langa to grin, but other than that, they don’t acknowledge it. Reki just gets some nice head-pats and fingernails on his scalp and warm tickles down his back (not to mention a three-quarter-chub in his pants), in addition to a lunch hour spent watching videos with his best friend, and that’s pretty great in his book. Being a dog is actually kind of awesome.

He mostly forgets about it, though, until later in the day, when they’re at the skatepark. He has to practice hard for his coming matchup against that dick, Adam, who thinks he can just _touch_ Langa, the fucking nerve…

Ugh. Reki kicks his board up and catches it with a huff. He can’t think about it too long, or he gets all worked up.

“You done?” Langa calls over to him.

Reki shakes his head. “Nah,” he says, trotting over to drop his board by Langa with the rest of their stuff. “Just realizing I gotta piss. Be right back.”

“The port-a-potty’s disgusting right now,” Langa tells him warningly.

Reki groans loudly, dancing in a circle. “I can’t hold it, though! I’ve been drinking so much _extreme_ hydration…”

“Mountain Dew is not extreme hydration.”

“Whatever!” He looks around them really quick—the park and the surrounding area are deserted but for Langa—and then darts over to the shrubbery lining the park and unzips his shorts.

“Reki!” Langa exclaims, scandalized.

“What!?” Reki snaps, pulling himself out through the hole in his boxers. “You wanted me to be a dog, right? Well, that means the world is my toilet!”

“You are actually the worst, I hope you realize.”

“Can’t hear you!” Reki shouts back, and smirks when he very much _does_ hear Langa’s weary sigh. The next moment, a wave of relief hits him as he begins to unburden his bladder into the bushes. He actually giggles a little as he pees, struck suddenly by how silly the situation is, and by an idea for how to make it sillier.

“Oi, Langa!”

“What.”

“Check this out!” And slowly, carefully, angling himself so as not to get any on his shoes, he lifts one leg. It sticks straight out, perpendicular to his body. “Bark, bark!”

It’s stupid, and hard to balance, but it’s worth it because he can hear Langa snickering to himself behind him.

“Hope you brought some plastic bags,” Reki jokes once he’s done and shaking himself off. “I think nature might be calling again soon, but dialing a different number, if you know what I mean.”

“I’m dropping you off at the pound.”

***

Days pass. By the weekend, this dog thing is pretty well established as an inside joke, one of many between the two of them. Langa pats his head, scritches behind his ear, pretends to feed him “table scraps” (really just the parts of his lunch that he doesn’t want), and in return Reki rolls over onto his back with his legs in the air and shakes his butt like he’s wagging his tail on the regular. It’s cute. It’s their thing.

On Friday, Reki’s mom and sisters are gone for an overnight hot spring visit. Reki could have gone but instead took the chance to have the house to himself; it would be no fun to go to an onsen where he has to be alone with strangers in the men’s baths, anyway. But hey, there’s an idea.

“We should go to a hot spring at some point,” he says to Langa as they sit at the kitchen table, waiting for their microwave curry to be ready. 

Langa hums. “I don’t think they allow dogs at hot springs, though.”

“Oi!” Reki laughs, swatting at him. Langa chuckles, too, fending him off halfheartedly as the microwave dings. “There are probably some that allow well-behaved dogs,” he points out jokingly as he pulls out the bowl and plates the curry alongside the fluffy white rice from the rice maker. “And I am the best-behaved dog, so.”

“Oh? Who told you that?”

Reki glares at him, and Langa smirks back. Reki whirls around to pick up the plates before Langa can detect the sincerity in his pout. “A real dog couldn’t make you dinner,” he points out, setting Langa’s plate before him and sliding into his seat across the table. _“Master.”_

Langa’s spoon clatters a little as he lifts it. “A _well-behaved_ dog,” he retorts smoothly, “wouldn’t eat at the table.”

Reki screws up his mouth in frustration. Then he stands with a huff. Pointedly, meeting Langa’s bewildered gaze, he sinks to the floor, taking his plate with him and folding his legs under him. Once settled, he raises his chin defiantly. “There,” he says. “Happy? Am I a good dog now?”

Langa blinks down at him, bemused. “Better, I suppose,” he says eventually.

“Ha!” Reki says, pumping a fist. “Or should I say, bow-wow!” He snatches up his spoon and gets ready to dig in.

“Although…”

He freezes, the spoon halfway to his mouth. Langa is tapping his chin thoughtfully. “What?” Reki asks suspiciously.

“Well,” Langa sighs, “it’s just that a _real_ dog couldn’t use silverware. Not even a really good dog.”

Reki frowns heavily. “Seriously?” he moans.

Langa just shrugs, turning back to his curry. “I’m not _telling_ you to do anything,” he says airily. “Just saying.”

Reki glares down from his spoon, to his dish, and back again. His gut churns with indecision. On the one hand, this is silly. It’s just a joke they’re carrying on. There’s no reason he _has_ to eat the curry without silverware, other than to keep the joke going—although that’s usually a compelling enough reason for Reki. On the other hand…

…He kind of wishes Langa _would_ tell him what to do.

He doesn’t know why, exactly. Maybe he feels weird doing it of his own free will. Maybe it’s because it’s what a real master would do with a real dog. Maybe it’s because it’s funnier that way. Maybe it’s because it’s more real that way.

So, yeah… he doesn’t know why, exactly. But he sets his spoon down on the table, places the plate of curry on the floor, brackets it with his hands, bends down to put his face in the steaming dish, and takes a bite.

The curry is piping hot. He can feel the condensation on his cheeks, and no matter how hard he tries to avoid it, the tip of his nose still dips into the sauce. It burns a little, and he can’t breathe well with all the steam, so he pulls back up to sit on his heels, sucking in a deep breath of clear air as he chews.

Langa is staring at him in shock, his hand paused halfway to his mouth, his spoon dripping curry all over the table.

Hurriedly, Reki swallows and barks a laugh. “Ha! You didn’t think I’d do it!”

Langa makes some kind of strangled, gurgling noise and lets his spoon drop with a clatter. “I, uh…” He drags a hand down his face, seeming to force himself to recover from the shock of Reki eating like a dog. “No, I suppose I didn’t,” he mutters.

Reki lets out another self-satisfied laugh and returns to the plate. He makes sure to blow on it this time, which, strictly speaking, isn’t very accurate dog behavior, but it makes the heat of the dish less suffocating. He takes a few more big bites and sits up again. To his surprise, Langa is still watching him, his eyes blown wide and black and focused nowhere but Reki.

“You…” he says hoarsely. “You have curry all over your face.”

Reki licks at the side of his mouth experimentally and sure enough, what he thought was only steam dripping down his skin is curry. He shrugs and grins messily back. “Not something a dog would care about, right?”

Langa snorts. “I guess not,” he agrees. He pushes his chair back from the table and goes to the sink, where he wets a dishtowel. He returns to kneel before Reki, amusement dancing in his eyes as he takes Reki’s chin in his hand like he would a dog’s muzzle. “You’re ridiculous, you know that,” he says fondly, wiping the warm dishtowel over his nose and mouth.

Reki just grins, enjoying Langa’s attentiveness, the firmness of his long fingers around his jaw. “But am I a good boy, is the real question.”

Langa pauses. His eyes lock with Reki’s, boring into them for a moment, and Reki realizes with a kick of his heart that their faces are only inches apart. He swallows, and Langa’s gaze flicks down to his bobbing throat. His fingers hold him strongly, though Reki wouldn’t move even if his grip were light.

Langa parts his lips, his tongue darting out to wet them, and Reki wonders with a lurch in his chest if he would taste as spicy and warm as the curry still lingering on his own skin. “You want to be a good boy?” Langa asks, his voice husky and low.

Reki swallows hard again, and Langa’s fingers tense harder into his jaw to hold him still, and oh man, isn’t it interesting how badly he wants to be a good boy all of a sudden? He gathers his remaining shreds of… _something_ , not dignity, that’s for sure, to joke hoarsely, “D-doesn’t every dog?”

Langa’s eyes bounce between his, like he’s searching for something. Reki hopes desperately that he finds it.

Then Langa blinks, and the intensity of the moment dissipates. His other hand begins to move again, the one with the dishtowel. “Gotta get you cleaned up,” he murmurs.

“Thanks,” Reki whispers back, and lets his eyes close while Langa draws the warm, wet towel over his face.

When he’s done, he sits back on his heels, regarding Reki with a calm, unreadable expression. “There,” he says quietly. “Now you look a little more presentable, anyway.”

“Ooh, am I a show dog?” Reki jokes. “You gonna groom me? Make me heel?”

Langa’s movements stutter a little, his hands fluttering to his knees. “I… No,” he says eventually, levering himself to his feet to take the wet dishtowel to the sink. “You’re just my dog. I’m not showing you to anyone else.”

Reki doesn’t know exactly why Langa’s words make sparks crackle in the pit of his stomach, but he’s starting to get some idea.

***

Reki doesn’t stay on his hands and knees. It feels kind of rude to leave Langa to clean things up when it’s not even his home. Standing up breaks whatever spell had been cast when Langa knelt before him and cleaned his face, and they’re back to normal, nudging each other and snickering over stupid shit while they clean up the kitchen.

They move into the living room afterwards. Normally they’d go to Reki’s room, but with no one else home, it seems a shame to let the opportunity go to waste. Reki casts his phone to the television so they can watch some skating compilation videos and throws himself down on the couch beside Langa, one leg tossed carelessly over the arm.

“This alright with you, _master_?” he jokes, flopping his head into Langa’s lap. “Am I allowed on the couch?”

It’s hard to read Langa’s expression upside down. He looks like he’s frowning pensively. “I don’t know,” he says, at length. “Do you think you’ve been good enough?”

“Yep!” Reki answers easily, stretching his arms over his head and lazing across Langa’s thighs. He heaves a happy sigh. “I think I’m a lap dog.”

Langa rolls his eyes good-naturedly. “Predictable.”

“Mm-hmm.” And he’s feeling strangely giddy about the whole thing, so he nuzzles his nose forcefully into the palm of Langa’s hand, looking up at him slyly. “You know, a few scritches wouldn’t be amiss.”

Langa snorts but obligingly starts to drag his fingernails through Reki’s hair. “Somehow, I doubt this is what Miya had in mind when he said you’d be his dog,” he muses.

“Well, you’re a much better master than Miya would be,” Reki replies, his eyelids fluttering shut as Langa’s nails scrape over his scalp.

“Oh?”

Reki hums affirmatively. “Scratching behind my ear, letting me on the couch… I think I’m probably not _technically_ allowed, but you can’t resist my puppy-dog eyes…” 

“Some things don’t change.”

Reki laughs, even though he doesn’t really know what Langa means by that. He doesn’t want to ask. Doesn’t want the buoyant, hopeful feeling ballooning in his chest to get popped.

Langa’s fingers continue to move lightly through his hair, dragging shivers down his spine, raising goosebumps on the back of his neck. He works slowly over his scalp, twirling hair around his knuckles, brushing it through his fingertips. Time begins to bleed, Reki’s mind goes hazy in the rising dark, broken only by the light of the quiet television.

“Can I take this off?”

Reki’s eyes flutter open. Wow, when did he close them? He’s so relaxed he could’ve almost fallen asleep with his head in Langa’s lap, and a furtive thrill spreads through him at the thought. To drowse in the comfort of Langa’s presence… it feels like he’s getting away with something. And maybe, he thinks, maybe that’s why he’s enjoying this dog thing so much. After all, a dog doesn’t fret about whether or not it’s okay to touch his master; a dog doesn’t agonize over whether it’ll ruin everything to beg his master to run fingers through his hair and doze in his lap. A dog doesn’t get embarrassed that the whole world shines brighter when his master—when Langa—is at his side.

“Reki?”

Langa’s voice is gentle yet rousing, and Reki finds his head turning toward it instinctively, like a sunflower bends towards the sun, his hair rustling against Langa’s sweatpants. Blue eyes look down at him expectantly. “Hm?”

With a small, fond smile that makes Reki’s heart leap, Langa hooks a finger around his headband. “This. Can I take it off?”

The intentness of Langa’s gaze dries his throat, steals the air from his lungs. It feels like some fog has parted in this liminal, waking dream, and for the first time he can see clearly just how much his world revolves around Langa. He really is a dog, waiting powerlessly at any given moment for his master to come home to him, to speak to him, to play with him, so they can go running and jumping and chasing each other day after day.

When did Langa become everything to Reki? When did Reki begin to belong to Langa?

Belatedly, he forces himself to shrug. “’M _your_ dog,” he murmurs hoarsely, trying to ignore how heat is rising to his cheeks. “You can do what you want.”

Langa doesn’t move right away. He’s still for so long that Reki wonders if he got weirded out. It was a little odd, maybe… too far, perhaps… but Reki is seeing so clearly right now just how fully he is Langa’s already. And if that’s the case, then maybe he should surrender to it. Maybe he should just let himself be Langa’s pet, and Langa can tell him what to do and give him praise and affection in return. Then again, if that’s too strange for Langa, if he’s crossed some sort of line, then—

Langa runs his fingernails under the headband, and Reki’s worries melt away. He tugs at it lightly, almost toying with it, before he pulls it off.

But to Reki’s surprise, he doesn’t tug it over his head. No, he pulls it _down_ , so it rests around Reki’s neck, like…

“Like a collar,” Langa murmurs, curling his fingers into the back of it so it pulls taut against his throat. “Okay?”

Reki swallows, and he can _feel_ his Adam’s apple bobbing against the soft fabric. Fiercely, he wishes it were more than a game, that this collar really did mark that they belong together. A tag dangling from a hook, reading, _If found, return to Langa._

He nods and tries to summon all of his traditional _joie de vivre_ to grin weakly. “Like I said, you can do what you want,” he says, and his voice sounds hoarse and reedy rather than devil-may-care even to his ears, yet even so he can’t stop himself from adding, “master.”

Langa’s fingers twitch against the notches at the back of his neck, pulling the fabric even tighter over his throat, and Reki gasps. Blood rushes in his ears. Distantly, he realizes that his dick is _throbbing_ in his shorts.

“ _Reki…_ ” Langa breathes, and Reki wonders with another undeniable spike of arousal if he’s noticed, the effect he has on Reki. He wonders if he cares. Wonders if it means even a fraction to Langa of what it does to him.

Langa’s blue eyes are shaded in the twilit living room, yet Reki can feel the heat radiating from them. It melts him into the couch, into Langa’s lap. He knows with sharp surety that there’s nowhere else he’d rather be—not Dope Sketch, not the skatepark, not even flying down the slopes at S—than here in the dark with Langa.

Fingers run under the makeshift collar from back to front, sliding over the sensitive skin of Reki’s throat. Can Langa feel his pulse pounding there? Is the evidence of his puppy-like hopefulness drumming into his knuckles, or is it already stamped plainly enough in the vulnerable lines of his face?

Then Langa’s hand pulls into a fist around the front of his collar, drawing it tight, and _yanks_ , jerking Reki’s head up from his lap at the same moment as Langa leans down. In an instant, their faces are centimeters apart. Reki lets out a yelp, his own hands flying to cup Langa’s wrist while Langa’s breath warms his lips.

“And what if what I wanted to do was to—to kiss you,” Langa demands, dark and daring. His eyes dart over Reki’s face, never resting anywhere for more than a split-second—his eyes, his flushed cheeks, his _mouth_. “Then what… _pet_?”

Reki feels like he could either faint or fly from the spike of adrenaline that lances through him. He licks his lips, and Langa’s eyes land there, seemingly fascinated by the tip of his tongue. “Then—then I’d say,” he confesses shakily, his heart roaring in his chest, “that I’m glad I’m not actually a dog, so I can kiss you back. Master.”

If they weren’t already so close, Reki thinks he would miss the small, sharp intake of breath as it rasps through Langa’s teeth. But they _are_ so close, and he _doesn’t_ miss it, and the smallest, struggling seed of optimism rooted in his marrow screams that maybe, just maybe, that thin sound is a command. Unthinking, Reki obeys: he lifts a hand to bury in Langa’s silky hair and tug him down so their lips finally, finally meet. 

Langa’s mouth is warm and slow against his, every motion delayed. It’s due, Reki supposes, to shock. So he moves for them both, pulling himself close by the arm snaking around Langa’s neck. It’s not his first kiss, but it is his most _desired_ kiss, he realizes, as he curls his body around Langa’s. He suspects he’s wanted this for far longer than even he knows, based on the fire blazing in his chest, the way his heart is trying to dig its way through his ribcage to burrow into Langa’s.

“Langa,” he pants, and he doesn’t know whether it’s rapturous or pleading. He’s draped half in his lap, wrapped around him, and Langa’s fingers are still caught in his makeshift collar, slack from surprise.

Then the hand clenches, yanks, _wrenches_ Reki harder against him, and Langa begins to kiss him back in earnest. The pressure on Reki’s lips is almost bruising, but it’s grounding in the dizzying whirlwind of the fact that he’s kissing Langa in the first place. He clings to him, humming as Langa’s other arm slides around his side to hold him tightly, as one of Langa’s long legs bends so Reki can rest against it and not worry about falling back, falling away from Langa’s lips.

Or maybe that’s not the only reason Langa does it. Reki feels something press insistently against his side. Langa—Langa is _hard_ , as hard as _he_ is! Holy shit, Langa is into this, too! Reki lets out a delighted, muffled moan directly into his mouth, shifting closer.

“Sh-shit!” Langa releases him instantly.

Reki drops back against his thigh with a thud, eyes snapping open. Langa’s hand is covering his mouth, his gaze averted and his cheeks bright red.

“Sorry,” he mutters. “That’s not— I didn’t mean— Just ignore it, please. It’ll go away.”

“What?” Reki asks, head cocked in confusion. “Your boner?”

Langa lets out a strangled sound as he turns away, burying his face further in his hand.

“It’s okay, man,” Reki says, more gently this time. Clearly Langa is embarrassed by this, so he must not have noticed, but, “Uh… y’know… me, too…”

One blue eye cracks open, looking at him sidelong. “What?”

Reki glances pointedly down at his own crotch. His loose shorts are tented obviously, his dick straining against the fabric. He flexes the muscles at the base just for fun, so it visibly pulses. The lewdness of the sight makes Langa cover his eyes and groan, and Reki giggles.

“So it’s fine,” Reki says easily, his arms still slung around Langa’s neck. He feels like a hundred million yen, knowing Langa’s hard, too, and he can’t help but smile. He shifts so he can press their foreheads together, Langa’s hand falling back down to his mouth, his beautiful, darkened eyes looking hesitantly into Reki’s. “Okay? We’re the same.”

“The same…” Langa whispers thoughtfully against his fingertips, gaze sliding away. “I don’t… I don’t think we are…”

“Whaddaya mean? We’re both—one sec.” Reki shuffles again, trying to get comfortable before an even better idea occurs to him. He pulls himself all the way up so he can shove Langa’s raised leg down to the couch, throw a knee over him, and plop himself down right there in his lap, ignoring Langa’s small noise of protest. He leans in, peering into Langa’s face. “Okay, now… _what_?”

“Reki,” Langa murmurs in surprise, one palm hovering over Reki’s hip, like he wants to grasp it but won’t let himself. He forces his hand to fall to the couch, clenching against the cushion. “You shouldn’t…”

“Why not?” asks Reki, bewildered. They both wanna kiss each other, they’re both hard, what’s the issue?

“Because,” Langa says helplessly, still refusing to meet Reki’s gaze.

“Be- _cause…_ ” 

“Because I think this means something else for me than it does for you.”

Reki frowns. “What do you mean? Do you—”

It occurs to him with a painful swoop of his stomach. Langa isn’t as into this as he is. Langa was just joking around, he was just taking the dare one step further when he said, _What if I wanted to kiss you_ , and Reki was stupid for thinking he was serious. The hard-on is just a physical reaction; Reki should know, with all the times he’s gotten hard for no reason riding on the back of the scooter with Langa, or helping him position himself on his board—although maybe it wasn’t no reason, after all, not for Reki, pathetic and pining. Langa’s way too cool for him, anyhow, and now he knows Reki is just some weirdo who’ll kiss someone who’s just joking and gets hard when—when he acts like a _dog_ , apparently, oh _god_ —

“S-sorry,” he whispers, sliding off Langa’s lap in a rush, his face burning. He shoves his hands into his crotch, pressing down on his stupid hard dick. “I didn’t mean to…”

“It’s okay,” Langa says quietly, his voice so steady and sad that it stabs shame through Reki’s gut. “I know you didn’t mean anything by it. I know you… like girls…”

Oh, _god_ , he’s trying to give Reki an out. Typical Langa. So kind. So understanding. Even though Reki just climbed into his lap with his dick hard.

“Y-yeah,” Reki stammers, trying to smile. “Yeah, I do. And I know you do, too, man, so…”

Langa flinches beside him, head turning abruptly, and Reki can’t help but look back. Color is high in Langa’s cheeks, and his mouth is red and wet and slightly swollen from… from their kiss, Reki realizes with a spike of shameful arousal. His dick throbs stupidly beneath his pressing hands.

“I do, too…” Langa echoes.

“Yeah, I know,” Reki says, fighting to shove down his annoying, insistent dick, which seems just fucking _giddy_ at the fact that _he_ made Langa’s lips so plush and bruised. “I know you do, which is why—”

“I don’t like girls.”

Reki swallows his tongue. Langa is staring at him with one eyebrow quirked in the utterly nonplussed way he usually reserves for when Reki’s trying to explain some new skate trick.

Well, for once, Reki actually feels the same. He gapes at him. “You… you don’t!?”

Langa shakes his head. “No. I like boys,” he says slowly. “I thought that was clear by how I kissed you.”

“But _I_ was the one who kissed _you_!” Reki shoots back.

“Maybe at first, but I kissed you back,” Langa points out.

“But I… I was the one who put my head in your lap!”

“I was the one who ran my fingers through your hair.”

“I was the one who sat on top of you!”

Langa is blushing even harder now, even though there’s a strange stubbornness sparking in his eyes. “I was the one who… who was _physically aroused_ by you doing it.”

“Well, I was the one who flexed my _dick_ at you, I think I win!”

They glare at each other, furious. Then they burst out laughing.

“You—you really did flex your dick at me,” Langa giggles, swiping a knuckle under his eye.

“I was _trying_ to reassure you!” Reki laughs, shoving his shoulder with a laugh.

That only seems to make Langa laugh harder. He covers his mouth with a hand, his eyes crinkling at the sides. Reki watches him, smiling openly. He doesn’t know exactly where they’ve landed, but anything is better than the horrified shame he felt barely a minute ago. Seeing Langa like this—laughing, happy—always makes him feel brave when they’re at S, and right now is no different.

“Langa.” Boldly, Reki places a hand on his thigh, and Langa’s eyes snap open to meet his. Reki squeezes his leg calmly, kindly, and leans in when he asks softly, “You like boys?”

For a moment, Langa is still. His eyes flick back and forth between Reki’s. Then he nods, his hand falling from his mouth. “Yes,” he whispers. “I like… _a_ boy.”

His chest swelling, Reki smiles widely. “Me, too,” he says, suddenly out of breath. “Me, too. I think I like a boy, too.”

Again, they gaze at each other, though the air now is entirely _other_ , heavy with heated implication. Langa’s gaze drops to Reki’s hand on his thigh, and slowly he covers it with his own, dry and cool.

“I… I hope it’s not too presumptuous to assume that boy is me?” he says, peering up at Reki through his long, pale eyelashes.

Reki scoffs. “It’s not presumptuous at all,” he says, instantly tangling their fingers together. “It’d be stupid if you didn’t, actually.”

“Oh,” Langa breathes, a shy smile tugging at the corner of his mouth as he watches Reki’s knuckles slide between his. “In that case,” he says deviously, “get back in my lap, Reki,” and he tightens his grip and _tugs_.

But Reki is already clambering over him, throwing a leg over his thighs and both arms around Langa’s neck and laughing as their mouths meet again. “You know,” he says against Langa’s lips, noses rubbing and breaths loud, “you could still call me ‘pet.’ If you wanted.”

He tries to make it jokey, but he knows in an instant that Langa sees straight through it. He hums thoughtfully into their kiss, hands landing solidly on Reki’s hips. “Mm, you liked that, huh.”

Langa’s mouth is so warm, his lips so soft, that it’s hard to stay playful instead of amorous, but Reki still gives it a good attempt. “I meannn… you did win against Miya. It’s only f-fai— _hahh_ …”

The breathy moan that chokes him off shoots embarrassed heat straight to his core. But he can’t be blamed for it, given that Langa just firmly pressed the palm of his hand straight to Reki’s rock-hard dick.

“La-Langa…!” he gasps, shocked by his sudden daring. His eyes fly open and meet Langa’s, hooded and dark and _fearless_ , and he knows that look, knows it for what it portents: Langa has set his mind on something, and now that Reki has told him he’s with him all the way, Langa won’t stop until he’s achieved it.

“Mm, you really are hard,” Langa murmurs, almost to himself, and something about _that_ turns Reki on even more. Unbidden, his hips stutter forward, grinding his dick into the heel of Langa’s hand. To his shock, Langa’s response is to press even harder and chuckle almost kindly, “Look at you, pet. Just like a dog after all, rutting against anything. Bet you’d even hump my leg if I held it out for you.”

Reki bites down a moan, his forehead dropping to Langa’s shoulder. How is Langa so fucking good at this? So fucking good at _everything_? Reki still had to make it at least half a joke, to protect himself, but Langa… Langa’s other hand is digging tight into his hip, guiding his abortive thrusts, and his words are swirling dizzyingly in Reki’s head, getting him so close already just on the depravity of the idea alone.

_Hump his leg… I would, I would…_

“F-fuck, Langa… _ahh_ …”

Abruptly, Langa’s hand leaves his cock. It snakes up to twist in the fabric of his headband-collar, pulling Reki back until their faces are inches away again. “If I’m gonna do what you want and call you ‘pet,’” Langa whispers, warm breath cascading over Reki’s parted, panting lips, “it’s only fair that you call me ‘master,’ don’t you think?”

The molten need already pooling in Reki’s abdomen begins to smoke and smolder. It’s not a joke, not a joke at all, when breathlessly, he nods and promises, “Yes, master.”

Triumph strikes like lightning in Langa’s eyes, and they’re kissing again, Langa’s lips parting instantly to slide his tongue into Reki’s mouth. Reki’s kissed people before, even done some over-the-clothes shit before, but never anything like this. It has him boiling from the inside. As Langa’s soft hands push under his shirt and slide against his skin, he wonders woozily how far Langa’s gone. He seems so confident all of a sudden, but then again Langa’s always determined and competent and sure of himself. He plucks at Reki’s right nipple, and Reki thinks giddily, cock pulsing, _Forget girls or boys, I just like Langa._

“La— _master_ ,” he corrects himself with a gasp, wrenching his mouth from Langa’s. He’s never played with his own nipples, but he might have to start, with the way the touch is shooting sparks down his spine.

“It’s okay,” Langa murmurs, pressing his face to Reki’s neck. “You don’t have to call me that if you don’t—”

“I do,” Reki bursts out, unable to control himself with the way Langa is pinching at the small, tight buds. “I do, I want to. I want to— _hnngh, fuck_—” He swallows hard, his hips grinding forward against Langa’s stomach, and for a moment he really does think he’s gonna come just from this, from Langa toying with his nipples while he ruts his cock against his abs.

“Oh my god,” Langa breathes, and _that_ , that indication that Langa is feeling it just as much, that does more to ground Reki than anything else possibly could.

“Shit, shit, shit… _fuck_ , hold on…” His hand flies to his cock, squeezing through his shorts to stave off his orgasm. Blearily, he grins into Langa’s dumbstruck face and says, “Not yet, okay? I… I wanna do more. More of what you tell me… master.”

Langa’s throat bobs visibly. A hand slides up to cup Reki’s cheek, and Langa brings him to his mouth and kisses him so… _sweetly_ … that it makes Reki melt. If he really was a dog, his tail would be wagging helplessly, thumping against the couch.

Langa pulls back an inch and whispers against Reki’s lips, “Get on the floor, then.”

Reki’s eyebrows lift. Langa’s serious, eyes boring back into his, though Reki knows he won’t force him to do anything. Not tonight, not the first time they do this. As Reki sinks without hesitation to his knees between Langa’s legs, he already knows there will be a second.

“Now what?” he asks with bated breath.

Langa doesn’t speak. He just lifts one foot and plants it between Reki’s spread knees, then stretches his leg out straight. His shin brushes against Reki’s balls, sparking in his core.

“O-oh, my—” Reki gasps, gripping the inside of Langa’s knee with one hand as he stares down at the leg disappearing between his. He knows what his master is offering him, and shit, that’s hot. He really is Langa’s dog.

Slowly, he leans over, resting his elbows on the couch as he angles his hips down. When the underside of his cock touches Langa’s leg, he groans, his forehead falling to Langa’s thigh.

Fingers tangle in his hair. “That good, pet?”

He doesn’t even lift his head to nod, just lets his head slide on Langa’s sweats. “Mm-hmm…” he hums, rocking his hips forward experimentally. His cock presses hard against Langa’s leg, the friction lighting sparks like wheels on asphalt, and already he’s addicted. 

He can feel that Langa is doing something over his head, shifting minutely, but his leg stays where Reki needs it, so he pays it little mind. His head is spinning too fast already as he picks up speed, his cock throbbing as his fists clench in the air. “F-fuck,” he gasps and bites down on the meat of Langa’s thigh through his sweats, and _god_ , that feels good for some reason, he wants to fucking _tear_ into Langa, open him up and live in him…

Then the fingers leave his hair to twist in the back of his collar and haul his head up. He peers hazily up at Langa, his eyes unfocused with need as he continues mindlessly to thrust against his leg.

Langa is stroking his own cock, inches from Reki’s face. He’s watching Reki’s expression carefully as he does so, his hand moving over it lightly and tentatively, as though he’s asking if it’s okay, but suddenly all Reki can focus on is… _it._ It’s jutting out over the waistband of his sweats, is pale pink and pretty and Reki’s never thought a dick could be _pretty_ before but Langa’s absolutely is, just like everything else about him, and he _wants_ it. Suddenly and overwhelmingly, he wants it.

Shakily, he sways forward so his forearms are bracketing Langa’s thighs. He hears an intake of breath as he brings his mouth within centimeters of the flushed head of Langa’s long, slender cock, and Langa whispers, “Reki—Reki, you don’t have t— _hnn_!”

It’s really just a lick, experimental, his tongue flat against the underside of the head, but the noise it drags from Langa’s throat is delicious. Reki flicks his eyes up to Langa’s, blown black and dumbfounded, and he can’t help the sly grin that pulls at his lips as he opens his mouth to take in the tip.

It just tastes like skin and his own spit, nothing particularly weird or special, but the way Langa throws his head back and keens makes it the most exciting thing Reki’s ever had in his mouth. He can’t help the way his hips kick forward to grind harder on Langa’s leg, thrusting and sliding and dragging the head of his dick against the layers of fabric between them, and he’s abruptly _so_ desperate to come like this, humping Langa’s leg and sucking his cock and fuck that’s so fucking shameless and depraved and oh god, yes, fuck, _yes_ —

Langa’s fingers spasm in his collar, and it draws tight against Reki’s throat, as if to remind Reki it’s there, and that’s it, he’s fucking shooting come into his shorts with a guttural moan around Langa’s cock.

When his ears stop ringing, he realizes Langa’s whispering something above him. His mouth is still around his cock, barely moving except to drool over it, and Langa’s thighs are trembling beneath him. “Oh my god, Reki,” Langa breathes above him, a hand moving shakily against the base of his cock where Reki’s mouth isn’t reaching, bumping against his lips. “Reki, Reki, please, _please_ , I—here—”

He pulls gently at the collar, lifting Reki off him but holding him there, and Reki focuses blearily on the way Langa’s fist is flying over his own cock, the tip brushing his chin. Barely thinking, Reki opens his mouth and lolls out his tongue, and Langa shudders, his other hand flying to his own mouth.

“Oh my god, look at you,” he gasps, muffled by his palm as he works himself faster and faster, his thighs tensing. “Look at you, you’re…”

“Look at _you_ ,” Reki slurs dizzily, and Langa chokes out a moan in response, almost hiccupping in ecstasy. Reki hurriedly holds his mouth open again as Langa’s body draws tight, shivering as his hand wrings his orgasm from him, spilling hot all over his fist and cock and Reki’s lolling, ready tongue.

“Oh fuck,” Langa breathes through it, staring down at Reki in shock. “Oh fuck, oh god…”

When Langa seems completely spent, Reki draws his tongue back into his mouth. The come doesn’t magically taste good just because it’s Langa’s, but there’s still something delicious in how Langa’s jaw drops open at Reki swallowing. And Langa kind of blew his mind tonight, and Reki figures he might as well return the favor, so he rocks forward and begins to lap at the come stringing over Langa’s fingers and the head of his cock.

“Re- _kiii_ …” Langa moans, jolting at the flick of his tongue over the sensitive skin.

“Lan- _gaaa_ ,” Reki returns teasingly, licking up his release. Langa giggles breathlessly as he opens his hand to present his palm, and Reki nuzzles his nose into his wrist, lapping up the last of his come.

When he’s done, he sits back on his heels, folds his arms over Langa’s knees, and rests his chin on them. He watches Langa raptly, flushed and disheveled as he demurely tucks his softened cock back into his sweats, and waits restlessly for him to look back.

Eventually he does, though his eyes skitter away almost immediately. His cheeks are so pink Reki can tell even in the dark. Langa curls his lips into his mouth shyly and says, “I… that was…”

“Awesome,” Reki finishes for him.

Langa flushes hotter, blue eyes meeting amber. “Was it?” he asks softly, needily.

“Yes,” Reki replies simply.

“I… I feel like I became someone else, for a moment.”

“Me, too. It was hot.”

Langa seems to breathe a sigh of relief. “Okay,” he says with a small smile. “Good.” His eyes drag over Reki’s face for a moment before he hesitantly lifts his fingers to gently cup his cheek. Reki leans into it fully, gladly, and Langa smiles even wider, and Reki thinks with an uncomplicated, all-consuming joy that this is what falling in love feels like.

“Does this change anything between us?” Langa asks quietly.

“Oh, yeah,” Reki says easily. “Everything.”

“Oh…”

“I mean, titles at the very least. Boyfriends, I assume.”

_“…Oh.”_

“Apparently ‘master’ and ‘pet’ are on the table, too…” Reki goes on, tracing circles into Langa’s sweatpants with a fingertip. “If you’re into that.”

Langa huffs a soft laugh. “Boyfriends, I think, is good for now,” he says. “And the others for special occasions.”

“Like winning a bet or something.”

Langa laughs even harder at that, his fingers pinching Reki’s cheek and tugging fondly. “Yes. Or something.”

They gaze at each other a bit longer, smiling. Reki’s underwear is disgusting, and his lips are dry, and his face is covered in spit and remnants of Langa’s come, but he doesn’t want to move just yet. He wants to keep living in this weird, precious moment when their friendship bloomed into what he didn’t realize he’d wanted from the very beginning. He thinks Langa wants to, too.

At last, Reki cocks his head and grins. “Well, I know one thing for sure,” he says. “I’m gonna have to train extra hard to beat Adam now. I don’t think I would mind trying out having a pet of my own.”

**Author's Note:**

> no it's not canon, no i can't remember who drives the scooter usually, and no i do not care, i just want these dummies to be together.
> 
> thanks to laser for the beta read!!
> 
> i’m [@tempestbreak_](https://twitter.com/tempestbreak_) on twitter.


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